


Cloudburster

by Nanimok



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: Arkham (Video Games)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arkham Verse, Comic Book Science, Comic Book Violence, Fluff, Jason Todd Is Arkham Knight, M/M, Maybe - Freeform, Tim Drake is Not Robin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2020-03-05 17:30:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18833368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nanimok/pseuds/Nanimok
Summary: With the arrival of Arkham Knight and whispers of something called 'Cloudburst' rising in the streets, Tim knows that something big is brewing in Gotham and he's determined to get to the bottom of it.





	Cloudburster

**Author's Note:**

  * For [salazarastark](https://archiveofourown.org/users/salazarastark/gifts), [ayzenigma](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ayzenigma/gifts).



> I don't usually post WIPs but blame strawberryjei and salazarastark for this ahahahha!! This started as an answer to a identity porn prompt salazarastark and ayzenigma was discussing and turned into... something else. Hopefully by posting it I will be more motivated to truly finish this because I do have this all planned out,,,it's just,,,,the actual,,,,writing,,,,,,,,,,
> 
> Anyway, expect 2 or 3 more chapters. Set pre-Arkham Knight video game, running into the game. You don't necessarily need to know the game to understand the story well though.

When you deal with knowledge and surveillance and a business life style, not many things in life can surprise you anymore. Depending on the surprise, it’s just one of the downside of being someone who’s seen almost everything there is to be seen in Gotham.

The Arkham Knight, however, is a sight onto himself. An enigma wrapped in a puzzle wrapped in box with broken nails sticking out.

He struts into Gotham’s underbelly in a storm of bullets, angry and brutal, donning arrogance as easily as he wipes Two-Face’s men across the floor. He severs a bloody niche for himself within weeks. He’s territorial and intelligent, protective of what’s his and what isn’t. Surprisingly, he garners loyalty from a good chunk of his men, and he keeps them in line. Tim wouldn’t have thought it possible to beat some principles into thugs—but he’s starting to think otherwise.

He’s kind to children, which is unusual. He’s kind in a way that’s benevolent and tough, but not creepy and invasive. The kids that work for him walk home at night, unharmed. They never have to worry about a job not paying. They never have to worry about disappearing.

Tim’s not sure what to do with all this information. He’s been quietly integrating himself into Scarecrow’s militia, and the Arkham Knight is all anybody ever talks about. He hasn’t met the man himself—although he’s watched him from afar—but he’ll keep collecting, and see what conclusions turn up.

There is one thing, though, one huge thing about Knight. One huge _Bat_ thing about Knight.

(Selina giggles in the back of his mind.)

The lab Jonathan Crane has him in is poorly lit, but clean, a surprising haven from the usual grime and brown stained tiles of most Gotham buildings. Still, if it weren’t for his own personal goggles, his eyes would be straining at the computer screen, the only stable lighting in the room. Neatly lined beside him is an assortment of beakers, test tubes, and petri dishes lying untouched for the last three hours. With each second that passes, his eyes strain and his nerves feel strung, so he blinks it off and observes a tiny tube of orange liquid in his hand.

He’s has been working at breaking down and refining Crane’s toxins for hours with no luck. Ivy could have probably done it in minutes, but Tim wanted a crack at it himself so now it’s a slow crawl to a viable solution. Sometimes, he wishes he could control plants on a molecular level—plants tend to wither at the sight of him just on principle. Whatever is the opposite of a green thumb (a red pinkie?) that’s what he’s got and he’s trying to work with it.

Tim wonders if he should call it a day and go home. Sneak out a couple samples into the hollow reinforced soles of his boots without Crane noticing. Shouldn’t be too hard, if he were honest with himself.

All of a sudden, he catches a blur on the corner of his vision. His restlessness spikes into anxiety and chills caress the back of his neck.

Tim holds himself still, before turning his chair. “Can I help you?” he asks.

The lab isn’t small, but with his guest commanding all the attention in the room, it feels positively suffocating.

There, helmet almost brushing the top of the doorway, is the Arkham Knight leaning against the doorway. He straightens, slow and deliberate—a complete contrast to Tim’s heart rate—and strides forward, hi red and white camo print taking up his whole vision.

Tim isn’t fooled by his supposed whimsical strutting. His hand twitches toward the knife strapped to the side of his thigh. Knight looms at him while he’s sitting down. Tim is at a clear disadvantage.

“Please,” Knight says, his voice nonetheless threatening from being robotic, “don’t stop on my account. Alfin, isn’t it?”

“Alvin,” Tim corrects. He doesn’t add anything else.

Not that Knight expects anything else from him. “Alvin,” he says, nodding. He then inspects one of the sealed samples on Tim’s desk, idly tipping it from finger to finger, on the back of his hands. Even if it seems like his attention is taken up, Tim is careful not to give off any tics from his movements.

“Is there something I can help you with?”

Knight savours the silence that’s only broken by the clinks of the samples landing into his hand. “Depends,” he says. “I have a small problem with the people you work for.”

He can taste his heart beating on his tongue. The syringes lie on the table between them. Beside the one strapped to his thigh, Tim has knives strapped inside his jacket. He doesn’t want to bet on whose reflexes are faster, given how vicious the Knight’s problem solving techniques tend to be.

“I work for Scarecrow, and I work for Poison Ivy,” Tim says slowly. “If you have problem with that, then I’m afraid you’ll have to take it up with them.”

“It’s not them I have a problem with,” Knight says. “It’s Batman.”

Tim stops himself from twitching.

_Shit._

If there’s anything more infamous than Arkham Knight himself, it’s the Batman shaped trigger the Arkham Knight has on his guns. Everyone knows to steer away from Knight whenever the topic of Batman comes up.

“I don’t work for Batman,” Tim says. “I’m a neutral party.”

“Careful there, Alvin.” Knight carefully puts the sample on the table. “I don’t appreciate people who lie.”

“I’m not lying,” Tim says, look straight at where Knight’s eyes would be. “I’m a neutral party. Ask anyone else in the business.”

“Hmm,” Knight says. “And when you sold Boomerang to Batman?”

Tim unclenched his hand. “That was personal. He tried to kill me.”

“So you decided to snitch on him to Batman.”

Against all his survival instincts, Tim glares at Knight. “I’m not a snitch,” he says tightly.  “Don’t want things leaked? Don’t piss off an information broker. Everybody else understood that. Boomerang brought it on himself.”

Knight tilts his head slightly, like Tim’s the most interesting pest he’s encountered all day. “Is that your deal then,” Knight says quietly. “I don’t piss you off, and in turn, you don’t run off snitching?”

“Poison Ivy will eviscerate anyone who touches me while I’m on the job.”

Knight chuckles lowly, and the distortion from the voice modulator only seems to deepen the sense of dread licking up Tim’s spine.

“A coward on top of a snitch,” Knight says. “Aren’t you just a delight, Alvin Draper.”

Tim holds his gaze, letting the silence stretch, before shrugging. “I’m a tech guy,” he says. “Not a soldier.”

And he’s not letting the Arkham Knight’s words get to him. Tim’s professionalism is spotless. If he says he will do something, then he does it, and he’s careful of silencing people who whisper otherwise, on the few occasion in which he does do otherwise.

It’s unspoken that if Tim ever thinks of going to Robin or Batman, he won’t live to see another day. The silence is more effective and stifling than words could ever be. Every second where Knight folds his arms and regards him is a second where Tim has to focus on breathing else he just stops completely.

“Tread lightly, Alvin,” Knights says, before unfolding his arms and heading out the room. “I have more eyes than you think I do.”

The air lightens with Knight’s departures, and only then, does Tim let himself slump in is seat.

 

* * *

 

Gotham city could almost be called pretty at night if Tim didn’t have to spend all his time expecting someone to come and stab him. It’s arching highways, curved, chiselled buildings, and bright neon signs—it almost succeeds in hiding the dirt permanently sticking underneath.

When he gets home, Pam’s plants have curled themselves around the cables in his workshop, drooping disappointedly over his equipment. For a plant, Pam likes lurking in the shadows too much, and goodness knows that Tim’s workshop has plenty of shadows.

Tim places his goggles on the table. “All right,” he says, peeling off his synthetic face mask, all the from the bottom of his chin to the top of his forehead. “Let me have it.” He places the mask gently on the table. “I know you want to scold my ear off for something.”

“I do no such thing,” Pam says, stepping into visible light. “If I did then provoking the Arkham Knight surely warrants a particularly scathing one.”

“I didn’t provoke him,” Tim says.

Pam arches one eyebrow in challenge.

Tim throws his hands up in the air. “I didn’t! I merely only existed and he definitely didn’t like that.” He reaches his belt and offers her a vial. “In fact, he was the one called me a coward _and_ a snitch. Not going to lie—I’m a little offended that your immediate reaction to blame me for the encounter. How did you find out so quickly anyway?”

“Right, of course,” Tim mutters. “Between your plants and Knight’s supposed ‘eyes’, I feel like I need to up my surveillance game.”

“Nothing beats natural remedies, you can say,” Pam says. “I still don’t like that you’re working under him.”

“I don’t really have a choice, do I,” Tim says wryly. “Crane and Knight are definitely in this together. What little I hear about this ‘Cloudburst’ operation is already worrying.”

“There’s always the choice of disappearing,” Pam says. “Why can’t you be more like Selina and ditch the fray before things get too hairy?”

Except Tim would never leave Pam behind, and it’s unspoken. He’s hardly the ten year old she found in Central Park, he can protect himself now. Tim’s stare hopefully exudes as much disappointment as her plants were earlier.

“Hasn’t Selina saved Batman a couple of times?” Tim says. “She saved him the last time Arkham Asylum took over the city, and she literally saved him from the Riddler again last week out of spite.”

“And he’s already taken a shot at weeding Selina out of Gotham permanently,” Pam says. “I would need more than two hands to count the number of windshields she had to replace due to bullet wounds. He obviously has a vendetta against anything Batsy. Everyone knows that you and Robin has history.”

“I said ‘hi’ to her once.” Tim says. “That hardly counts as history.”

“And all the times you ‘ran’ into her and helped?’

“He doesn’t know that.”

“ _We_ don’t know if he doesn’t know that.”

“With time, we will,” Tim assures. “If everything goes to plan. Neither Robin nor Batman has ever seen my real face.”

Tim pinches under his jaw and peels off his prosthetic cybernetic mask slightly, before sticking it back on.

Pam sighs. “You were always such an unruly child.”

“I’m exactly where I need to be,” he tells her.

He passes her two vials of orange liquid. A branch curls itself around Pam’s wrist like an adoring bracelet. It brushes against Tim hand in a silent thank you as she accepts the vial.

“Crane’s men can’t keep a secret to themselves, not surprisingly. This is the newest, concentrated version of his toxin.”

“He actually gave you the authentic version to work with?”

“Predictably no, he gave me a fake batch,” Tim says. “As if he’d ever willingly give up his edge over you. These ones are the real deal, however. Straight from Crane’s own personal labs.”

Pam hums her approval. She tilts the vial upside and watches an air bubble float to the surface. “I don’t suppose Crane saw you swiping these on your way out, did he?” she asks.

Widening his eyes, Tim does his best impression of an innocent puppy who couldn’t possibly do anything wrong.

“Sometimes, I wonder if you’re more Selina’s stray than mine,” Pam says.

Tim can hear the approval in her voice. “All the plants in my rooms says otherwise,” he says, waving at his table.

Pam rolls her eyes. “Be kind to them. They don’t mean to break your toys.”

Easy for her to say when the plants actually _listen_ to her. Every time cracks open one of his devices that mysteriously goes dud, he cracks them open to see shameless branches digging into the components of his devices. They ooze way more pollen than regret, Tim swears.

“But you will be careful?” Pam asks.

Tim is a little taken aback by the question. It’s not like Pam to outwardly worry. “I always am,” he says.

The look she tosses him shows just how much she believes him. Tim mercifully ignores it.

Pam sighs. “And you’re good will with Oracle?”

“Is only between me and her,” Tim says. “Robin doesn’t know. Nightwing doesn’t know, and more importantly, Batman doesn’t know. Don’t worry. Oracle can keep a secret.”

 

* * *

 

The next few days consisted of watching the Arkham Knight with both alarm and fascination. As Arkham Knight determinedly encroaches on the territories of every other Rogue in Gotham, Tim grudgingly admits that the man has more nerves than good sense.

Possibly the only thing he has more than both qualities is money; from all the resources he’s pulling in, his funds seem endless. Why would Knight ever want something as shitty as Gotham escapes him too. With a bank account as big as Batman’s, he could choose to be anywhere in the world. Why would anyone ever want to stay?

Tim is sure he caught an ‘Al Ghul’ thrown in there somewhere, and that’s impressive enough on its own. Is Arkham Knight indebted to Ra’s is some way? Is he an investment of some sort?

It’s a risky investment, if it is one, Tim muses, as he leans on the steering wheel of his ‘borrowed’ vehicle. Batman’s survived everything that’s been thrown at his so far, and Tim doubts that Arkham Knight will stop him.

Currently, Knight is meeting with Two-Face by the dockside while Tim listens through a planted bug, although from the harsh tones of their voices, everything is probably about to go south real soon. Tim tightens his hand on the wheel, but he doesn’t want to crash in just yet. He’s curious to see how long Knight’s men will last against Two-Face’s. Will they even _stay_ and fight against Two Face? If Gotham’s men knows one thing it’s how to scatter and survive.

When the guns start firing off, Tim plays with the thought of leaving Arkham Knight to fend for himself—see his casual lethality in action—his indignation that his minions left him off to dry—seeing how he measures up against one of Batman’s infamous Rogues—

Then, sighing, he slams on the pedal.

People scramble as he rolls onto the scene, a couple diving into the water to avoid his driving. Cracks start appearing on his windshield. Swerving madly, he holds the steering wheel as fully turned as he can, while he leans over and pushes the passenger door open.

If Tim could see Arkham Knight’s face under the mask, he’s sure that it would be in shock. Only for a microsecond, he stares at Tim—a small, almost indiscernible stutter to Knight’s usual bursts of frantic energy—before jumping into the seat and closing the door shut.

Which, Tim doesn’t blame him. The last time Knight saw him, he had his goggles on with a mask that emphasised the roundedness of his chin and face. Today he’s donning a random face Tim generated from a whole bunch of security cameras. His nose is more squared, but his chin is stronger. His forehead is prominent, made more so by his bald head, and his inconspicuous-shade-of-brown eyes.

But one thing Tim hasn’t been able to consistently masked is his voice—he hasn’t fixed his voice modulator since it last broke—so he tosses a gun at Knight and says, “Funny how the coward’s the one to save you, huh?”

Knight twitches. “Drive.”

“How about a ‘thank you, Alvin,’” Tim says, shifting the car into reverse before slamming the pedal on full once more. “A ‘gee whiz, I was really wrong about you, Alvin. You’re a pretty swell guy for swinging by and saving my ass—’”

“ _Drive_ ,” Knight says again.

Knight pulls down the windshield, and leans out to fire a couple of rounds. The blasts blend in to the banging noises that chase them.

Tim hopes that Knight at least has his seat belt on.

Air blitzes past his cheek and his side view mirror splinters. Tim quickly dips his steering wheel right to avoid colliding into the back of a driving car. He glances at the rear view mirror—

"Is that a _bazooka?"_ Tim asks incredulously. “How the _fuck—”_

Knight ignores him, opting to continue shooting out the window.

Sure enough, in one of the vehicles chasing them, someone is hefting a bazooka on their shoulders and aiming right at them. Tim quickly searches for a small alley they can duck into.

“Do they always pack a bazooka in their cars?” Tim asks. “Christ, why couldn't you get yourself one of those?”

Plopping down on his seat, Knight says, “Draper, do me a favour and shut the fuck up.”

The devil whispers in Tim’s ear. Tim grins in reply. “Is that a bazooka in his pocket, or is Two-Face really happy to see you?”

Knight is literally wearing a mask, but Tim can see that he’s looking up at the high heavens. 

Maybe Tim's feeling a little brave because it's _his_ hands on the steering wheels, so if one of them goes down, they're going down together. Maybe it's because adrenaline is rushing straight into his ears, and his heart is zooming as fast as his car is, but ribbing Knight is too irresistible. Plus, Knight being exasperated under his helmet makes him seem more approachable, albeit still a very trigger-happy, person.

Amidst tires screeching, Tim hears the deep bass of a 'boom,' behind them. He immediately swings into a small alley. The car tilts sideways as they turn, before the tires bounce back on the ground. Behind them are a raucous blend of screams and beeping and screeching, all highlighted with the smell of smoke, burnt metal and the sourness of Gotham's streets.

"Keep driving towards Central,” Knight says. “I’ve got back up coming.”

“We’ll be driving towards the GCPD station.”

“The Militia will provide enough racket and cover for us to slip past and lose everyone on our trail.”

“Big enough to distract Batman?”

“Cars, machine guns, missiles, tanks—you name it. It’ll be there.”

Tim considers it. “But do you have bazookas?”

“That’s it,” Knight says, leaning over to the steering wheel. “I’m driving the car my fucking self—”

Tim slams on the brakes. They both lurch forwards as the tires shrieks to a stop. Coming towards them, sirens shrilled at full volume, is a pack of oncoming cop cars.

"New plan," Tim says, putting the car onto reverse again. "We're going to the waterfront. I’ve got a boat.”

“Huh,” Knight says. “Just a boat?”

“It’ll work,” Tim says. “Trust me.”

Their eyes connect on the rear view mirror briefly—Tim with one of Alvin’s many contacts, and Knight with his helmet.

“What do you need the trust for?” Knight says, but he leans back in his seat.

Tim doesn’t answer—quite. When horizon of water starts looming closer, Tim hopes that Knight really won’t kill him for this.

“Hope you like swimming,” he says. “Hold the steering wheel for a minute?”

Knight dives for the steering wheel. As Tim opens the interface on his wristwatch, their car rams over the edge of the waterfront pavement at full speed. For one second—two seconds—they’re gliding in the air—then they tip forward front first into the water. The webs on their windows crack wider under the pressure of water rushing in, coming up to their waist.

“This is your great idea?” Knight says over the sound of their compartment flooding.

“The boat is coming,” Tim replies instead. “It’s struggling to find our location. Either Two-Face or the GCPD is messing with my signals, so give it a couple of seconds.”

“Never mind that,” Knight says, undoing his seatbelt. He taps on the bottom of his helmet and hefts the door open with his side. “Time for us to leave.”

“If we surface without a boat then we’re going to get shot.”

“Then make it snappy, Draper,” Knight says. “Aren’t you supposed to be the tech guy? I’m guess the reason you’re not deploying some kind of oxygen tank is because you didn’t include one in your suit.”

Tim doesn’t look away from his wrist. He tilts his head up as water starts licking up his chin. “A couple more seconds,” he gasps a mouthful of air.

Knight sighs audibly. “Useless,” he says, before grabbing his collar and jerking him sideways.

Then their heads submerge under water. His vision blur and his ears dampened as if he’d stuffed cotton pads in his ear canals. Tim has the watch interface memorised enough to fir off his muscle memory. He taps on the final button just as Knight drags him through the passenger door.

His lung burns, feeling tight and hot and itchy, but if he is anything less than calm it’ll only get harder. He focuses on moving his limbs, pushing through the water crushing his body flat and swimming closer to where the pressure lightens and lightens—

Tim breaks the surface, stuffing as much air in his lungs as he can, coughing from his efforts. Briefly, he registers the boat floating near him, but before he could do anything about it, Knight hauls him up by the collar _again._ And—Jesus, Tim knows he’s pretty short ( _“compact,”_ he insists to others) but how strong must Knight be to haul him onto the boat with only one arm?

Over his coughs, Tim can hear people yelling, probably pointing at them. He scrambles to the motor just as Knight head to the steering wheel.

The motor rumbles to life. Bullets slap into the water—

They lurch forward in motion, the wind viciously biting into his cold skin. His view of the waterfront—and the people chasing them—grow smaller and smaller. He can feel himself landing from the high of the chase, grounding in the feel of his soaked, soggy clothes and the mask clinging onto his face.

Tim could tell from the way he tips his head at him, that Knight wanted to ask him something.

“Scarecrow wanted to know where you were,” Tim informs him.

Knight considers this. “And did you tell him why I was there?”

“No,” Tim says. “Told him, ‘how would I know? I’m just the tech guy round here.’”

Knight huffs. He sounds amused.

“I like to keep him on his toes,” Tim says, as if justifying himself. "It's poetic, in a way."

“I’m sure you do, Draper,” Knight says. “You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you.”

 

* * *

 

“You are the most unruly child,” Pam announces, like its brand new information.

Tim almost drops his pipette. “I’m guessing you heard,” he says, placing it gently in a beaker instead.

“Yes, I heard,” she says. “And instead of running away from Arkham Knight, you’re running straight to him, it seems.”

“I’m being strategic,” he says. “Crane will never trust me because of my association with you. I don’t think Knight will either—but there’s more upward mobility with gaining his favour. He has power over most of the militia anyway.”

“You also think that Knight is the lesser evil in this situation and that’s where we disagree.”

“Not necessarily.” Tim waves his hands around. “You know the whole ‘keep your friends close, and your enemies closer’ thing.”

“And I assume, since Oracle is your one and only singular friend, that Knight would be the enemy.”

Tim pouts. “Okay, ouch. I have two friends, thank you very much. But it’s also very convenient that you’re here because I want to check something.”

Opening a small fridge under his table, Tim hands her a vial of blue liquid.

Pam looks at it curiously. “What’s this supposed to be?”

“Painkillers this time.” Tim leans back and crosses his arms. “What do you think?”

She uncaps the vial and tilts a drop onto her palm. Her veins and arteries grow a darker green as plants curl around her limbs.

“Very close,” she says. “A drop would be enough to get my plants started.”

“Right.” He sighs. “So I need to keep working on it. Ugh” Tim looks at the vial forlornly. “I really thought I had it this time.”

“I don’t know why you bother. I’ll never be without my children around me.”

“Not relying too much on your plants was the whole idea,” he says. “This is just for an emergency. Just in case.”

If Tim had a word to describe Pam’s anatomy and biology, then it would be ‘troublesome.’ Normal medications doesn’t work on her. Pam regulates herself via her own plants and her own tailored concoctions—the compounds she makes within minutes can takes weeks to replicate in a lab, and even then, they’re not as effective as the original.

Tim knows first-hand that even Batman can’t fully replicate Pam’s toxins. Sometimes, Pam’s consults for Batman, whenever she feels bored. It’s reassuring then, for Tim to be able to have these unique chemicals on hand for extremely urgent emergencies.

When Tim spies Pam’s disgruntled face, he almost laughs. He’s seen that face before. He makes the same one every time she feeds him her home made cough syrup.

“I don’t understand why you abhor these drugs so much,” he says with mirth. “They’re all modelled after naturally-occurring compound anyway.”

She scrunches her nose. “I don’t abhor it, I just find it distasteful.”

The way she says it sounds like she’s describing barf. Tim refrains from rolling his eyes.

“There’s just more finesse in letting the plants themselves brew the chemical to life,” Pam says. “It’s all so cold with your harsh lighting and metal tables and synthetic derivates.”

“They’re not _those_ kind of drugs,” Tim says. “Not everyone can manipulate plant matter at an atomic level. Maybe I just want to be more like you in the only way that I can?”

“That’s cute,” Pam says, unaffected. “If you really wanted to be like me, you would’ve shot Crane on sight.”

“That’ll bring Batman down on our necks.”

Pam almost snorts. “What’s the worse he can do? Throw you in Arkham?”

At which point, and everyone knows this, you just break out. Simple—like Pam does all the time. Although, Tim has never needed to break in the first place, since he’s careful enough to bring up enough attention to show on _anyone’s_ radar.

Tim shrugs. “True.”

Pam strides forward and Tim can feel a branch wrap around his ankle. He never did end growing as tall as her plants—as much as he tried to. He only ended up being at eye level to her, so she stares him down while tidying his fringe, with a stare so familiar that it bores right down into his bones.

“Yes?” he prompts.

She raises one eyebrow at him.

“I’ll be fine,” Tim says, almost exasperated.

If anything that only makes her look more unconvinced.

“I will!” Tim says. “Trust me. I’m going to be okay. I know what I’m doing. I’ve planned it all out.”

“For every thousand scenario you predict, there’s always going to be one you miss. The world tends towards spontaneity and improbable chances,” Pam says. “It’s not you that I don’t trust, darling.”

“I know. I know,” Tim says. “But whatever it is, I want to be prepared, and I think this is the best way of being prepared. If anything goes wrong, I’ll step back. I promise. I’ll disappear.”

Pam regards his words while rubbing his forehead like she rubs the leaves of her plants. “Promise?”

Tim will step back, but that doesn’t mean he’ll leave Pam to fend for herself. He doesn’t tell her this, of course, because even after all these years, Pam is still careful in keeping the Rogue gallery from ever meeting Alvin Draper, or more importantly, ‘Tim Drake’.

“I promise,” Tim says anyway. “Cross my heart and swear on it.”

**Author's Note:**

> Don't worry hehe Jason will soften up. Hope you guys enjoyed! I'm on the Tim Drake and the JayTim discord server if anyone wants to talk. 
> 
>  
> 
> [my tumblr](http://fatcatsarecats.tumblr.com)


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